


Yet to Have Your Finest Hour

by Gorillazgal86, improfem



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Podfic Welcome, Porn with Feelings, Slight Canon Divergence, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: Silence settles over them again. Crowley crouches against the wall, clutching the receiver in a sweaty, cramped hand, heart going like anything. Neither of them knows what to say, but they can't bear to hang up either, so they just listen to each other breathe. Crowley's heart is painfully heavy, full to the point of bursting, and he's so, so fucking hard all of a sudden.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 161





	Yet to Have Your Finest Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> Sometimes fics just appear when fawning over a delightful bit of art and this is one of those! 
> 
> This fic is inspired by the amazingly talented [Whiteley Foster's](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com) stunning pic of Crowley in the phone booth and we just couldn't help ourselves and a fic materialised, almost miraculously!
> 
> You can find the picture [here](https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/614486953239379968/hes-just-calling-his-angel-for-a-perfectly).

The child is delivered, the end of days finally and officially underway and the only thing Crowley can think about is telling Aziraphale immediately. Of course, he hadn’t predicted this when he’d brought down the whole of the mobile phone lines and the frustration of having played himself is now coupled with sick tension in his stomach at what he’s just started.

He needs a phone booth, this call cannot wait. He slows down, his eyes scanning for the once ubiquitous but increasingly rare red boxes. When he finally finds one, buried in the outskirts of the village he’s just left, his heart jumps into his throat and he scrambles to get the Bentley pulled up alongside it. His fingers shake as he pushes the buttons for the only other number he has memorised outside of his own.

Crowley shifts from foot to foot anxiously as the phone rings, each tone vibrating through him, his mind racing across what exactly he’s going to say once the angel finally picks up the phone.

_Hope you’re having a lovely evening, I’ve just triggered armageddon._

_Are you busy? Because the end of times has just begun and it’s my fault._

_Everything we’ve come to love and enjoy about this Earth-walking existence, well it’s officially got an end date._

Finally the line clicks and Aziraphale’s voice, prim and clearly annoyed at the interruption of his evening trickles down the line.

“I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed.”

“Aziraphale? It’s me. We have to talk,” Crowley manages with more calm than he feels.

Aziraphale’s voice is more serious when he responds and Crowley’s a bit relieved that the angel already seems aware. They agree to meet the next day, but it’s not enough, Crowley, frightened and his insides twisted even as his hand moves to disconnect the line, words come tumbling out, aided by the distance and anonymity provided by the phone booth.

"Angel, wait, don't hang up. Something else I have to tell you!"

_I still can't face you when I say this, what if you are shocked?_

"What is it, my dear?" says the angel, a tremor of worry in his voice as the weight of the news settles over him like a heavy cloak.

"I've- I'm- ngk!" Crowley closes his eyes and feels almost like he's suffocating under all those secrets. "Never mind. I'll see you soon."

He wants to hang up, but Aziraphale interrupts him, very quietly.

"Crowley, wait."

A beat of silence and a deep breath, Aziraphale is clearly trying to calm his nerves.

"I love you."

The words hit Crowley like a wrecking ball, the air sucked out of him and his world crumbling around him. The antichrist is delivered, the apocalypse has begun and Azriaphale has just confirmed what he always wanted to hear. . . needed to hear. There is an discomforting silence on the line, Aziraphale evidently struggling against Crowley's silence.

"I'm still here, Angel," Crowley rasps down the phone, his ears treated to a sigh of relief. "I . . . " Despite knowing the angel's feelings, Crowley struggles to get his tongue to form the words.

"I love you, too," He manages.

Silence settles over them again. Crowley crouches against the wall, clutching the receiver in a sweaty, cramped hand, heart going like anything. Neither of them knows what to say, but they can't bear to hang up either, so they just listen to each other breathe. Crowley's heart is painfully heavy, full to the point of bursting, and he's so, so fucking _hard_ all of a sudden.

Crowley can hear Aziraphale's laboured breath over the receiver, rushing in his ear. He's never known the angel to be at a loss for words and it only heightens the tension growing in Crowley's abdomen. There's no doubt about the shared feelings between them now. . . not that there ever really was.

"I wish i had done so much more," Aziraphale breathes. "I've been a fool."

"Don't." It's out before he can even really think about it. "Don't do that to yourself..."

_You were only being careful. You were protecting us._

His tongue feels heavy with wasted opportunities and unspoken words, and yet none of it comes out.

"So. . . end of the world, huh. 'S been a pleasure knowing you."

Aziraphale is quiet on the line, seeming to absorb and carefully process Crowley's every word. It's exhilarating, in a way, how the angel's breath catches, revealing something somehow deeper that is going unspoken, yet neither are able to voice exactly what they need, even in the end of days.

"I've wanted you, in so many ways. I feel so silly admitting it, but this may be the only chance I get," the angel says at last, his voice hoarse with uncertainty. There is no agreed path here, no agreed terminology and Crowley can't stop the groan that escapes his lips at the confession.

He laughs despite himself, a flood of warmth running through him as he considers the situation he’s found himself in. He's stood in an abandoned, dusty phone booth, his heart pounding and the angel's heavy breaths down the line the only sounds surrounding him, the air thick with their combined revelations. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he envisioned telling Aziraphale what he felt for him, but it would have to do.

"You're all I've always wanted," Crowley admits, his cock tenting his trousers now, the openness and frankness taking him by surprise. But fuck it. The end of the world only comes once.

Aziraphale swallows heavily on the other end, and for a moment, Crowley thinks this is where he'll hang up. Surely that's too much, that's-

"Tell me about it," the angel breathes. Stops, then, uncertainly: "Please?"

Crowley closes his eyes. He closes his fingers into a fist to the root of his cock, trying and failing to keep it from taking over all his good sense, and he barks another laugh.

"Angel, I- that'll take another six thousand years."

 _We don't have that kind of time_.

But Aziraphale remains firm.

"Please," he repeats, and it sounds almost like a prayer. Crowley is powerless against it, his heart still split open with their confession, and he lets his hand fall away from his crotch.

"I've wanted you in The Garden," he blurts out, surprising himself by how far back the memory of this longing goes. "Right - there on the wall, when you said you gave your sword away. Wanted to take your face in my hands and kiss you, give you everything in return. Everything in my power."

The silence on the line crackles like the aftershock of a lightning strike. Like centuries of denial, finally cracking beneath their feet.

"You did."

Crowley has to fight hard to recollect himself, the simple acceptance from the angel is near enough to drive him mad.

_Yes!! Of course I wanted you then! From that moment you confessed you're not like the others, that you see the bigger picture and not just the celestial plan as described to you. I wanted you from the very moment you looked at the vulnerable and endangered picture of Adam and Eve and you decided that yes, you, Principality of the Eastern Gate, could do something to help. You've driven me absolutely insane in every moment since._

Crowley wants to say this, of course, but there has already been too much deep, intimate information exchanged over this exposed and public line.

"I can't say exactly, when I knew, if I'm being honest. But there's not a single doubt in my mind Crowley, about what I feel for you" Azripahle breathes.

The honesty takes Crowley's breath away, but he supposes there's nothing quite like the end of the world to drive forward latent and repressed feelings, though his head spins from the words.

"I'm touching myself," the angel admits quietly, his voice so small Crowley nearly misses it through the static.

"You...?" The words take a moment to register, and when they do, they sputter and hiss like drops of water on the overheated burner that is Crowley's brain. He feels another surge of desperation and lust, and this time, instead of pressing down, his hand closes around the bulge of his erection.

"Fuck, Angel, y'cant just-"

"I am. I'm thinking of what I would do right now if you were here, and-"

"Whassssat?"

Fuck, fuck, he can't even talk properly anymore, he's drunk on this moment, drunk on every word Aziraphale gives him. And Aziraphale, his beautiful perfect angel, of course he understands.

"I would kiss you very carefully, I should think. Press my lips against yours, and only learn the shape of them. Move slowly, to feel you completely, and delve deeply into your scent. I wouldn't be able to help myself, though, and I would grip your knees just to steady myself, but that would push them open. Allow me to slide between them."

The angel's voice gives a clear and definite rasp down the line and Crowley feels a bit more of himself coming undone. He grips his hands against the red planks of the phone booth and takes a moment to regather himself. This isn't how he'd imagined it and yet, he can't think of a single place he'd rather be.

"You can't just say that, Angel, unless you mean it," Crowley croaks, his fingers gripping tighter around his shaft.

The words feel real and genuine, but Crowley can't quite shake the feeling that he's in some dream world and he'll wake up and find this was all some illusion of his imagination.

"I mean it Crowley. I've wanted to be enveloped by you, to forget myself in the very essence of you. If what you're telling me is true, then the only thing that is clear is that I've wasted an incredible amount of time," Aziraphale whispered and Crowley can scarcely believe the words he’s hearing from the angel, let alone accept they’re true.

Crowley's fist begins to glide up the length of himself, his weight resting against the grimy, sticky wood of the phone booth, but it doesn't matter where he is at. He has a desire to miracle himself to the angel this very instant and yet he fears that a single step in the wrong direction would mean he would wake up and the vision rolling silkily down his ears will vanish into thin air.

"Please Aziraphale, don't stop," Crowley rasps, his hand stroking firmly down his cock, his eyes closing, trying to conjure the image Aziraphale is painting for him.

"I would kiss you hungrily," Aziraphale goes on, and there is a heat underneath his words that is unlike anything Crowley has ever heard from a human lover. "Oh, I would want to take my time, but Crowley, I have been starving for you. I'd pull you into my lap and wrap myself around you, run my fingers over every inch of you."

Crowley is breathing heavily now, his fist sliding along his shaft in quick, concentrated movements. This fever dream may be over any second now, but he intends to make the absolute most of it.

Crowley presses the phone closer to his ear and he's nearly certain he can hear the slick, wet slide of the angel's hand against his own cock, but doesn't feel bold enough to confirm.

"This is it, Angel," Crowley breathes, as if trying to justify both of their reactions.

"I know, Crowley. I knew we'd get here one day, perhaps I envisioned it differently, but the sentiment remains the same," Aziraphale gasps, his voice raspy.

Crowley's head is spinning with the information he's trying to process. The Antichrist is on Earth, he himself delivered the child, and yet there is still so much left undone, so many questions he hasn't asked. But none of it matters at this moment. His angel is on the other end of the line and unless he is telling some elaborate lie to himself, stroking himself against the tragedy of lost time.

"It feels so good, Crowley, I wish you were here. I'm sorry, that I've left so much unsaid," Aziraphale says, his voice catching, the heated falling apart so clear and evident in his voice.

"I'm right here Angel, I always have been," Crowley gasps, his thumb stroking across the head of his cock, his eyes just fluttering closed against the vision of Aziraphale just as ruined as himself on the other end of the line.

Strangled gasps are all he can hear from Aziraphale now, accompanied by the hurried movement of skin against skin, and cut through with a few high-pitched keens. He can tell Aziraphale is trying to hold on, and that he won't be able to for much longer.

"Let go, Angel," Crowley manages. "I got you, let - let me hear."

The sound Aziraphale makes is inhuman, or perhaps - stunningly human, an expression of something Crowley never knew was possible for his prim and proper angel.

"Hah- Crowley, I, I'm-"

He cuts himself off with a moan, and the sound grips Crowley everywhere. Every cell in his body wants to answer it, wants to join Aziraphale as he floats over the edge, fan the flames of his desire as long as he can, and catch him softly once he comes down from the high.

Instead, Crowley's head falls back against the cold wood of the phone booth, and all he can offer is his voice. A primal, guttural groan spills from his throat as his hand twists urgently across his length, the angel's sweet sounds of ecstasy filling his ears.

He screws his eyes shut to allow his imagination to paint the picture his eyes can't see: Aziraphale in his bookshop, the ancient telephone balanced between his head and shoulder, his teeth just biting into his bottom lip as his body curls in on itself as the waves wash over him. Those perfectly round cheeks flushed pink with pleasure and Satan have mercy, Crowley wants to be there, to see it, to smell it, to touch it.

"Ahh, Angel, I'm gonna . . . I'm!" Crowley bites out, the image in his head too strong to resist and hot creamy tendrils of come coat his fingers as his knees buckle under him and he slides down the phone booth.

They both are silent for a long while. Their gasping breath and the slight static of of the phone line the only noises between them, and the realisation of what just happened settling in like a heavy blanket.

After minutes, a small laugh spills out of the receiver, and Crowley can practically see Aziraphale's flustered smile before his mind's eye.

"Well, that was..."

"Yep. Sure was."

He bites his lip, trying to think of what to say in a moment like this.

"Well, I guess I'll see you soon. Have to figure out what to do about Armageddon, yeah?"

He scrambles to his feet, the sticky residue of his orgasm vanishing with an infernal miracle.

"Yes, I suppose we must. But, Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"Drive safely."

**Author's Note:**

> Want to comment, but not sure what to say?   
> We welcome any kind of comment – short sentences or emojis as much as long lists of copied sentences you liked with or without your reaction, and of COURSE long rants or analyses on what you liked. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated!  
> If you’re stuck on what to say, the Long Live Feedback comment builder is a neat tool. It exists as either a [Google sheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1lOqWGDNquHxr23l84ASKn-vdSLFrHop4giVOYDkKnWI/edit#gid=547831518) or an [excel sheet](https://onedrive.live.com/view.aspx?resid=5483CD320B0B1070!128&ithint=file%2cxlsx&authkey=!AH0iTc9X_UtUzCE), both of which help you generate comments that express what you liked about a story without you having to find or type the words. Comments can be customised or fully generated by the tool, and we promise, as your authors, we will love you for commenting more frequently!


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